


Waterbear

by jerseydevious



Series: CEC Shorts [6]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, one day audreycritter will ban me from writing her boy but that day is not today, someday i'll post something long that day is not today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/pseuds/jerseydevious
Summary: Bruce and Dev have an awkward conversation about fathers.





	Waterbear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/gifts).



> Guess who let me write Dev again

After his shower, Bruce found Dev on the patio outside the kitchens, hands cupped around a mug with  _ Garden State _ surrounded by creeping green vines emblazoned on the side. The summer night tasted sweet and thick with the scent of rich soil and fresh rain, but Dev didn’t look to be noticing any of it —he was staring into his mug like the answer to world peace could be found at the bottom of him. 

 

Bruce cleared his throat. Dev jumped, spilling water over his hands, staring back at him beneath the yellow patio light with something like reproach. 

 

“Sorry to wake you,” Bruce said, softly. He kept his voice angled distinctly downward, because Dev’s shoulders were still pulled taught and he hadn’t worked in even a  _ isn’t it past your sodding bedtime.  _

 

“Nonsense,” Dev croaked. He coughed, and then said, louder, stronger, “Nonsense. How is he?”

 

“Damian’s asleep. He’s as alright as he can be—he was very well dreaming,” Bruce said. He kicked off the doorway he was leaning against and pulled out a chair across the table from Dev, easing into it. His chest ached as he did so; last night, there’d been a shootout. The kevlar had taken a beating. Bruce, less so—all that was left behind were the bruises. 

 

“That’s a lot of sodding vomit for a dream,” Dev said, in a voice devoid of doubt. Dev knew the kind of dreams Bruce’s children could have, the things they’d been through. Bruce’s twisted heart ached in time with the bruises over his chest.    
  


“I’m sorry to have called you,” Bruce said. “You’re free to stay, of course. You know that.”   
  


Dev shook his head. “I’ve—a meeting. In the morning. Very big stuff. I’ll need to be off soon.”

 

“If you’re going to lie to me, you ought to do better than that.” 

 

Dev stared at him and Bruce stared right back, until Bruce felt a chuckle rumble up his throat and then he was laughing, inexplicably. “C’mon, Dev. Just stay the night.” 

 

But the tense expression on Dev’s face hadn’t changed. 

Bruce frowned. “Dev,” he said, slowly, “are you quite alright?”

 

“You say that exactly like your da,” Dev said, quietly. His eyes dropped back to his half-filled mug. “You say that exactly like—your kids, they do things exactly like you, sometimes.” 

 

Bruce’s brows furrowed. “Hn,” he grunted, because it was all he could think to say. 

 

“You’ve a sodding phenomenal family.” Dev drained the last of the water in his mug. “And you’re a sodding phenomenal da.”

 

Bruce leaned back in his chair. Phenomenal—not how he himself would put it, not at all. “I think you’re tired. Do you genuinely have to go back tonight or can you stay.”   
  


“You’re not hearing my sodding words, you stupid selectively deaf man,” Dev hissed. “You dropped everything for Dames tonight. You called me because you were worried, because you sodding care enough to—oh, hell, you’re not even listening.”

 

Bruce’s hands were clenched so hard they were bloodless. “I carried my son’s corpse home. Phenomenal is not the word, for the kind of father that makes me.” 

 

Dev met his gaze, evenly. “Neither is bloody awful.” 

 

“That’s two words, Dev.” 

 

Dev’s face crinkled in annoyance. “Can you spend ten minutes not being a sodding cur when I’m being nice to you.”   
  


Bruce smirked. “If you can spend ten minutes not being wrong.”

 

“Excuse me, was I so sodding wrong when I was pulling that sodding tumor out of your skull brilliantly, or should I just sodding put it back—”

 

Bruce shuddered. Dev’s mouth flattened. “Sorry, Wayne.” 

 

“That’ll be fine,” Bruce said, briskly. “There’s something you’ve failed to consider.”   
  


“And?”

 

“That you only think of me as phenomenal because your own father was horrendous.”

 

The hit landed. Dev flinched backward, drawing in on himself like a hermit crab sliding back into its shell—Bruce’s heart ached at the sight. What a worthless, cruel man he was. 

 

Bruce pushed off his chair. “Well. As you know, the Manor’s always open to you—I believe Alfred is actually making pancakes come morning, which I’m sure has your interest. Naturally I won’t be around, if that matters to you. Have a good night.”

 

Bruce was halfway to the patio door when Dev said, lowly, “Sit your arse down, Wayne.” It was a voice to be obeyed. So Bruce only turned on his heel to look back at Dev, who looked like  _ he _ was the one with roughly a fourth of his spine made of steel. 

 

Dev crossed his arms. “You’re a bigger idiot than even I knew if you thought you were getting away with that sodding look on your face. Sit the hell down, mate.”

 

Bruce slowly moved back to his chair. His brain had gone curiously blank. 

 

Dev dropped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Maybe. Maybe sodding so, Wayne. Maybe I wouldn’t know what good parenting looks like if it bit me on the arse and then boxed my ears. But I sodding know what it doesn’t look like, and it’s this. You love those heathen children.”

 

“Love did not keep my son from dying,” Bruce snarled. 

 

Dev shrugged. “You’ve a guilt complex the size of this sodding country.”

 

Bruce huffed. “Hn. As do you. You did nothing to deserve childhood abuse.”

 

Dev gritted his teeth and looked away. “I hate that sodding word,” he mumbled. He continued in a stronger voice, “Sod it all, Wayne, I was just trying to say something nice to you.”

 

Bruce smiled thinly—it felt toothy and raw. He almost had a verbal response but the words just slipped past his tongue like the smell of campfire smoke. 

 

Bruce watched as Dev stood, and awkwardly opened his arms. After seeing the look on Bruce’s face, Dev rolled his eyes, and said, “It’s a hug, not a murder attempt, now get your paranoid arse over here.”

 

Bruce slowly rose, and then he was being folded into thin but strong arms like wire cables.  _ I called you because I thought Damian was dying in my arms,  _ he couldn’t say, and yet somehow Dev knew, because when Bruce leaned his head into Dev’s shoulder and breathed a shaky breath Dev didn’t say a word. 

**Author's Note:**

> :D


End file.
